


Icarus

by Truly_Happy



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Child Abuse, Daedalus is a douche, Gen, Historically Inaccurate, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Magic, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Theseus is a douche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 16:26:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13884675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Truly_Happy/pseuds/Truly_Happy
Summary: It was not Ariadne who gave Theseus the magical twine.





	Icarus

Daedalus used to tell Icarus that he was born singing. That, the very moment he entered this world, he was creating something beautiful. It was only fitting, therefore, that the very moment Icarus’s mother, Melpomene, named after a famous muse, was also singing when she died. 

At least, that what Icarus thought, late at night while his father rambled, conveying nonsensical stories to Icarus. He did not dare to interrupt his father when he was like this, driven half-mad by the sight of the outside world, and yet unable to touch it. His father was smart, Icarus knew that. He also knew that his father was twice as insane as he was a genius. That some days, Icarus had to pull him off of the window ledge to keep him from jumping, or had to stay awake, even when sleep pressed heavy on his eyes, and he so wanted to drift off. To rest. But rest only meant anger. Daedalus hated it when Icarus didn’t listen. Wasn’t fast, or tidy enough. When he was angry he would make Icarus climb onto the window ledge, and dare him to jump. Act like he was going to push Icarus off. “And to think that your mother died for some cripple.” He would hear his father mutter afterwords. Icarus would hurry off then, and pretend that the words didn’t sting. That no, he didn’t care that his father hated him. 

“He doesn’t hate you.” Ariadne would tell him. “I think he’s just sad.” Ariadne was the only other child in the palace, other than the minotaur, though they scarcely counted him as human. Ariadne was kind, and sweet, and some days Icarus couldn’t help but hate her just a little bit. 

“Who knows, maybe you can get that little bitch to fall for you.” Daedalus would mutter bitterly in a drunken haze some nights, as Icarus watched him, wincing when wine sloshed from his goblet and onto the complex blueprints he and his father were meant to be making for Minos. Icarus did not bother to tell his father that he didn’t like women. That would only send Daedalus into another tirade about Icarus’s many immense failings. 

Ariadne likes to visit the minotaur some days. Why, Icarus is never sure. “He’s my brother.” Ariadne tells him simply, when he asks. “And he’s at least part human- look, he even reacts when you talk to him. Like he’s talking back.” Icarus looks dubiously at the beast- a strange, malformed creature. Not really human, and not really beast- Icarus would almost pity it. 

Icarus himself is half-formed. When he was very, very young he broke both of his legs so badly that one was forever malformed, and the other had to be amputated. At the very least, he feels some sort of kinship with the beast. 

 

The area of the palace where Icarus and Daedalus have been locked away is pretty, at least. They have a whole wing to themselves, and all that’s required is that Daedalus and Icarus keep the king entertained. He likes the magic tricks that Icarus comes up with, at least. Plus, he at least seems to feel bad that he’s locked them up. The king likes talking to Icarus. Likes hearing the stories he comes up with, about The Gods, and monsters. The key is to never mention his wife. The Kind loathes it when you mention anything remotely related to his wife, or the minotaur. 

 

The day that Minos asks Daedalus to build him a maze, Daedalus tells Icarus to leave and never come back. Almost shoves him out of the window too. “God, I wish you were dead and I could have your mother back.” He muttered bitterly, as Icarus scrambled for the door. “Then, at least I would have a half-useful assistant.” 

It takes Daedalus two years to create the labyrinth. Honestly, it probably could have taken him two months, but Icarus thinks that Daedalus draws out his projects. Makes Minos wait. Then it takes a year to actually build the thing- by now everyone knows that he’s planning on putting the minotaur in it. Ariadne hates the idea of locking away her brother. “It’s barbaric!” She shrieks. “Honestly, why would anyone do that to a child?” The minotaur is almost seven by now, and resembles a fully-grown bull than a human child. But Ariadne still insists that on some level it’s human. 

Up until Minos actually sent out the request (‘request’ is putting it lightly) that someone come to slay the minotaur, that he was just going to leave it in the labyrinth. Then, he invades Athens. No one had expected him to win that one either. Icarus is convinced that Minos was just going to leave it, and that when he invaded Athens he honestly wasn’t sure how to punish them, so he just brought out the minotaur. Every few years, Ariadne cries while they watch youths- not much older than them- are marched into the labyrinth that Icarus helped to make, and slain by the minotaur. Their remains are never taken out. No one dares to go in and fetch them. 

Then along comes Theseus. 

 

Neither Ariadne, nor Icarus really expected him to be that handsome. They’re bothe seventeen and stupid, watching as another wave of youths are marched by. They’ll be put into the labyrinth in about a week. They notice him first, by the fine clothes he’s wearing- rich silks, finer than any Icarus has ever seen. Theseus is big, broad shouldered, with dark skin and beautiful curly hair that cascades in waves down his back. Both Ariadne and Icarus have grown as well- Ariadne has the body of an hourglass, and a face so lovely that it’s already attracted more than enough suitors. She is muscular and harsh, but beautiful all the same, like a god of war. 

Icarus, on the other hand, is pale and lanky, with hair that never lies flat. Relatively unremarkable looking when he thinks about it. 

“I’ve talked to him.” Ariadne informs him the next day. Icarus nearly falls off of her bed, which they’ve been lounging in for the last half-hour. 

“ _ What?”  _ He asks, coughing, nearly choking on the grapes they’d been eating. 

“I’ve talked to him.” She repeats herself, slowly, like Icarus is some sort of moron. 

“I know, I heard you, but… why?” 

“Why not?” She shrugs nonchalantly. Icarus finds it infuriating- how can she be so calm about this? It’s treason! Not only that, she’s committing treason against her own father. And he’s supposed to die. Supposed to be murdered by the minotaur, Ariadne’s own brother, in a death maze that Icarus helped design. “Oh, and I also promised him that I would help him.” That’s it. Icarus is done. 

“What!?” He shrieks so loudly that his voice carries down the hall. A servant pops her head in, looking worried. 

“Are you two all right?” She asks, mildly concerned. 

“Just fine.” Ariadne informs her calmly popping another grape into her mouth. The minute that the servant vanishes again, she lunges at Icarus, punching him playfully in the stomach. “You shouldn't be so loud. This needs to be a secret.” 

Icarus, meanwhile, is dangling half-off of the bed and questioning every decision he’s ever made that led up to this moment. “Ariadne, what have you _ done _ ?” He groans. “If anyone finds out you’ll be executed! Your father be damned. No, your father will only make it worse- the ultimate betrayal. I can see it now-”

Ariadne punches him again. “Shut up. This is serious.” 

“I’m being serious!” He says shrilly, his voice rising an octave in panic. “Ari, they’ll kill you. They’ll kill me, too! Then my dad will be all alone, and-”

“It’s not like he actually loves you.” Ariadne shrugs, reaching for some more grapes. 

Icarus’s face darkens “He does too.” He replies softly. 

“If he did, would he threaten to push you out of a goddamned window?” Ariadne asks, contempt in her voice. “Icarus, this dude- Theseus, or whatever- is a prince. He could be our ticket out of here. Away from our dads. Maybe he’d even spare the Minotaur.” Internally, Icarus rolls his eyes. This hero won’t spare the Minotaur. That’s just Ariadne being wishful. 

“What do you need me to do?” He sighs. Maybe Theseus would take them with him. Ariadne brightens, and she tells them her plan. 

 

Magic, much like the science of inventing, is quite easy. It’s just another form of science, really- the search for meaning in the way the sky bends, and the crickets hum. Icarus works, for five days, late at night under his bed covers while Daedalus sleeps at his desk a few feet away. In the end, he has what will be later called by old men, whispering stories in hushed whispers to their grandchildren, i another time and place a ‘magical ball of yarn/thread.’ But in reality, it is so much more. An infinite string, not a hard feat to accomplish, really. Just an eternal looping spell that goes on forever, repeating the same segment of thread over and over so that it never runs out. The issue, of course, was the linking of the segments, but that was easily conquered using yet another eternal looping spell, mixed with what could only be called a ‘primitive glue.’ 

Ariadne is not the one who slips Theseus the thread, the day of the executions, Icarus is. He almost forgets to breathe when he sees the other boy up close, he’s so very, very handsome. Beautiful, stunning, radiante. “What do you want?” He asks rudely, when he sees Icarus. 

“Um-” Icarus looks down, suddenly finding his sandals quite interesting. “Ariadne wants me to give this to you.” He hands Theseus the yarn. Theseus looks down at it judgmentally. 

“Thanks, but I’m about to die, I don’t need knitting supplies.” He sneers, and tries to hand it back to Icarus. 

“No!” Icarus says, a little too loud. Both boys freeze awkwardly. “Um- it’s magic. It’ll help you through the maze.” With that he darts away before Theseus, Greece’s handsomest douchebag, can hand it back to him. Hopefully he can figure the rest out on his own. He runs back to his room. 

 

“Where have you been?” Daedalus asks him when he arrives at their apartment. “Have you forgotten what day it is?” Icarus’s mind flashes, with a million answers to that question. Taco Tuesday, Execution day, The cook’s birthday, What is he forgetting?

“Um… The cook’s birthday?” He asks, and his father scowls. 

“No. The day you try out my new invention.” Daedalu shoves what can only be described as what looks like a lump of wax and feathers attached to leather straps towards him. 

“And what are these?” Icarus asks, examining it curiously. 

“Wings.” His father says sharply. “Now stop dilly-dallying and put them on.” Icarus’s heart sinks. Of course they are wings. 

“Dad, are you sure that these will work?” Icarus asks, ignoring his better judgement. His father is going to kill him. He’s finally going to shove him out of the window. There’s no way in Hades that these’ll work. 

“Put them on.” His father growls, roughly shoving icarus’s arms through the straps. 

“Dad, I don’t think that these are going to-” 

“Shut up.” His father cuts him off. “They’ll work.” He was so close to escaping, too. So close to getting away with Ariadne and Theseus, the handsome asshole. He’s being shoved towards the window now. 

“Dad, they won’t work, please stop-” He’s too weak. His dad has always been stronger than him. Always, ever since he was a little kid. He can’t break free, as he thrashes with his father shoves him towards the window. He’s out on the roof, and Daedalus has a broom- where did he get a broom?- and he’s trying to hit him with it. 

“Jump you miserable coward!” His father shrieks at him. 

“Help! Somebody help me!” Icarus shrieks at the top of his lungs, hoping that somebody will hear. His father his him in the side with the broom, just hard enough to send him reeling, slipping off of the ceramic tiles and towards the edge. He doesn't want to die. He wants to escape with Ariadne. He wants to escape and live with Ariadne. He wants to drink wine late at night with her and tell each other their secrets, giggling like children in her room. He wants to live so, so badly. But he’s slipping, tumbling off the roof. 

For a moment he thinks they’ve worked. He hangs, suspended in the air. Then he’s falling. Falling, falling, falling. When the old man tell their grandchildren the story of how he fell, they do not say how good it felt to fall. How the rush made him dizzy. When he finally crashed to the ground, his neck, as well as every other bone in his body snapping instantly, he looks up at the sky, a tired smile on his face. 

 

In the end his father does not mourn him, only sparing his dead son a thought in the hazy-half sleep that comes late at night, wondering all of the things that could have been. In the end Theseus leaves Ariadne on a desert island to starve, slowly and excruciatingly. Only in death does Icarus realize that no one could have saved either of them. 


End file.
